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Maris paused, giving him time to comment or ask a question, but he didn’t, so she went straight to the reason for the call. “I’m trying to reach someone, an individual who I believe lives on St. Anne Island.”
“That’s in our county.”
“Georgia, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he proudly replied.
“Is St. Anne actually an island?”
“Not much o’ one. What I mean is, it’s small. But it’s an island, awright. Little less than two miles out from the mainland. Who’re you looking for?”
“Someone with the initials P.M.E.”
“Did you say P.M.E.?”
“Have you ever heard of anyone who goes by those initials?”
“Can’t say that I have, ma’am. We talking about a man or woman?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. Huh.” After a beat or two, the deputy asked, “If you don’t even know if it’s a man or woman, what do you want with ’em?”
“It’s business.”
“Business.”
“That’s right.”
“Huh.”
Dead end. Maris tried again. “I thought you might know, or might have heard of someone who—”
“Nope.”
This was going nowhere and her allotted time was running out. “Well, thank you for your time, Deputy Harris. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“No bother.”
“Would you mind taking down my name and numbers? Then if you think of something or hear of someone with these initials, I would appreciate being notified.”
After she gave him her telephone numbers, he said, “Say, ma’am? If it’s back child support or an outstanding arrest warrant or something like ’at, I’d be happy to see if—”
“No, no. It’s not a legal matter in any sense.”
“Business.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, okay, then,” he said with noticeable disappointment. “Sorry I couldn’t he’p you.”
She thanked him again, then closed her office and hurried down the hallway to the ladies’ room, where her cocktail dress had been hanging since she’d arrived for work early that morning. Because she frequently changed from business to evening attire before leaving the building, she kept a full complement of toiletries and cosmetics in a locker. She put them to use now.
When she joined Noah at the elevator fifteen minutes later, he gave a long wolf whistle, then kissed her cheek. “Nice turnaround. A miracle, actually. You look fantastic.”
As they descended to street level, she assessed her reflection in the metal elevator door and realized that her efforts hadn’t been in vain. “Fantastic,” was a slight exaggeration, but considering the dishevelment she’d started with, she looked better than she had any right to expect.
She’d chosen to wear a cranberry-colored silk sheath with narrow straps and a scooped neckline. Her nod toward evening glitter came in the form of diamond studs in her ears and a crystal-encrusted Judith Leiber handbag in the shape of a butterfly, a Christmas gift from her father. She was carrying a pashmina shawl purchased in Paris during a side trip there following the international book fair in Frankfurt.
